• A Haunting by Tiffany Aldrich MacBain

    Beyond the golden years of trick-or-treating, Halloween morphs into a high-pressure holiday, like New Year’s Eve or the 4th of July, when you feel like you must have plans or else endure a long night of loneliness and self-loathing, a night pierced by the cackling laughter of fun-havers outside your window, a night most unhallowed. If you happen to have plans, your suffering is of another sort: weeks in advance of the party, you have to figure out what you’re going to “be.” And then you must buy and assemble components of a costume, and then you have to wear it all. Having a child relieved me of that burden:…

  • Cold by JF Speed

    Snow was blown bits of metal that would dot your face with blood if you rode your bike fast enough. Rain became hard splats of gum and a breeze was something that could rip the hair out of your head. Sue Lynn had raced him down a hill so high it seemed to be a mountain. They called it Sack Mountain but his momma said it was really a hill. If you wanted to see a mountain, there was the Rockies where she grew up. As if you could compare them. One was stone teeth in the sky and the other a mound of grass and gravel that blocked everything…

  • When She Was Sick by Vince Genna

    When she went through it, I captured every moment as I helped her, Push aside every doubt that, Maybe she wouldn’t make it out; Alive and well, We were swell… I would act like everything is fine, It wasn’t; I could see it in her eyes, It was too painful for her to cry, She would bat them in pace with every second the clock would tick, So she wouldn’t have to see my face as she lost me… To continue reading When She Was Sick click here.

  • A Swimmer in Time Part 2 by Martin Chase

    Yet my head does not explode from the pressure of being overwhelmed all at once by everything that lives, breathes, flows, falls, and crumbles under a the light of a trillion suns. I, and the Odinic Travelers before me, whose memories are preserved within my own brain, have seen them all before in all our sojourns throughout the span of the universe. My cranium is stable for now, or so I think (is it?). Then, after being lost in a raging river of visions, and flowing streams of time, the courtyard cuts back to nothing. But should I be surprised at the stark transition to nothingness? For what is nothing,…

  • Economics by Justin Racine

    Few bits of cash, Looking for some work. Would love the chance, To be this town’s clerk.   Job market’s a mess, Like the dogs presents, Look one way or the other, All to get some cents. To continue reading Economics click here.

  • Squirrels Hate Robots by William Turbyfill

    “Squirrels hate robots.” He says it with such earnestness that it catches me off guard. “I beg your pardon.” “Squirrels. Hate. Robots. It’s really not that complicated.” The five year old is right. It is not a complicated concept to comprehend and yet, I have questions, not the least of which is, ‘if squirrels hate robots, do robots in turn, hate squirrels?’ “I could draw you a picture of it if that would make it easier for you.” I’m not a fan of his condescending attitude. “How do you know this, about the robots and the squirrels and what not?” I say this while looking for a pencil and paper.…

  • Jitters by Christian Carvajal

    Brad Slayton was one of those middle-management tool chests who treat every business lunch with a woman like it was a date, and every date like a business transaction. From where I sat, he was there to debrief me on the Tokyo deal, which, to his credit, he locked down in record time. He seemed convinced it was more about waging a scorched-earth assault on a Bedrock-sized rib eye and flagon of Lagavulin sixteen-year. Between, often during, red mouthfuls of cow, he was talking to me, his direct superior at Cheswick Financial Group, like I was a first-week receptionist on Mad Men. “The thing about Tokyo,” he declared, “is it’s…

  • The Ambassador’s Horses by Cyndisa Coles-Harris

    A groom, in the course of his service to the private stables of a much-admired ambassador, found himself in the vibrating belly of a specialized cargo jet.  He was not alone in that place.  A veterinarian and an armed guard were there as well, all three men secondary to the purpose of the flight, an entourage for the ambassador’s horses.  Three fine hunter mares stood quiet as cargo, neatly slotted into caution-yellow container stalls; a black, a blood-bay, and a sun-golden sorrel, all pedigreed and proven, sound and glossy.  In a fourth stall, also breathing grassy warm into the caustically clean atmosphere of the jet’s interior, was a new acquisition…

  • Arcade Days by Justin Racine

    Players start, Game begins, Choose fighters, Hope to win. Digital art.   Joystick on left, Buttons on right, Fingers twitching, Box of huge heft. Screen so bright.   To continue reading Arcade Days click here.

  • Covert Operation Calico by L. Lisa Lawrence

    The story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Since no one was actually innocent, I didn’t bother. There are friends you call in the dark of the night, when you need someone to help move furniture. That was my friend Houston S Wimberly the Third. There are friends you call in the dark of the night, when you need to move a body… Apparently, that would be me. To continue reading Covert Operation Calico click here.